Jacquie D’Alessandro - A Sure Thing?

"Good morning," she said, walking briskly toward the sink, slapping away the memory of how they'd awakened together yesterday morning.

"Good morning." He jerked his head toward the coffee machine. "I just put on a fresh pot."

"Great." Jilly busied herself at the sink, rinsing out her coffee cup, removing her muffin from the bag, all the while pretending she didn't notice the way his charcoal-gray suit hugged his broad shoulders and long legs. Or remember how good he looked, and felt, underneath his clothing.

"I wonder if Jack Witherspoon will contact Adam today," he said.

"I don't know. But if not today, then certainly this week. Jack wants to launch the ad campaign as soon as possible."

From the corner of her eye, she watched him cross to the fridge. Then he walked back to her, and set the container of milk next to her cup.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"Your coffee."

Their eyes met and Jilly's insides seemed to tense and melt at the same time. Lifting her chin, she said, "You've never brought me the milk for my coffee before."

"I never knew you took milk in your coffee… before."

In the span of a heartbeat, a wealth of intimate knowledge passed between them, and she bit the insides of her cheeks in an attempt to stem the dread seeping through her. Good grief, if she couldn't even remain detached during a brief encounter in the break room, what hope did she have to survive working with him on a daily basis?

None. So it was time to buck up and get a grip. Time to forget about the intimacies they'd shared and concentrate on the fact that the object on the counter might look like an innocent container of milk, but it represented the personification of his take-charge personality-the trait in a man she'd spent her entire dating life avoiding.

Wiping her face clean of all expression, or at least she prayed she did, she forced her gaze to remain steady on his. "Thank you, but I'm perfectly capable of getting my own milk."

"I'm perfectly aware of that."

"I hope you plan to honor our agreement for it to be business as usual between us, Matt."

"Of course." He raised his brows. "Unless you've changed your mind?"

"No. Of course not." Really. Definitely not. "I just feel the need to remind you of our agreement."

"Because I brought you milk for your coffee?" Before she could answer, he stepped closer to her, invading her space-the space she needed to keep between them so she wouldn't reach out and touch him. She backed up, but her hips hit the counter, leaving her nowhere else to go. He halted when only a foot separated them. Leaning forward, he braced his arms on the counter, caging her in. Her heart pounded, and her brain screamed at her to move away, but her feet remained stubbornly in place. She should have been outraged at this further manifestation of his take-charge ways. And as soon as she could breath properly again, thus providing the necessary amounts of oxygen to her suddenly numb brain, she would voice her outrage. Definitely. A muscle ticked in his jaw… his clean-shaven jaw that her fingers itched to touch.

"Per our agreement, I have every intention of ignoring what happened between us as best I can," he said, in a low, tight voice, "but it's proving a bit more difficult than I'd anticipated. Unfortunately I don't operate like a light switch that can be turned off and on at will, although I dearly wish I did. As time goes on, I hope this will get easier. But in the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you'd take my word that I'm trying, and that I might mess up."

His gaze skimmed down her body before returning to hers. "Believe me, if I didn't intend to honor our agreement, you'd sure as hell know it. Because instead of giving you the damn milk, I'd kiss you. I'd tell you that I feel like hell this morning as a result of not sleeping last night because I couldn't stop thinking about you. And that I'm not looking forward to the next few days or weeks or however long it's going to take until I can be in the same room with you and not feel this… whatever the hell it is. And that instead of making small talk, I want to ask you to dinner tonight."

Jilly stood perfectly still, heart racing, all thoughts of outrage gone, mesmerized by the clear frustration simmering in his eyes. Tension and desire and heat radiated off him, and it was all she could do not to touch him. Evidently he was experiencing the same conflicted feelings and desires as she, a fact that surely should not have pleased her. But she was only human and, damn it, misery loved company.

Drawing a deep breath, she shifted sideways. His arms fell to his sides, and she quickly put some space between them. Feeling much more in control, she lifted her chin. "Yes, this is awkward, but we knew it would be. And as you said, it will hopefully get easier with each passing day. As for dinner tonight, that is impossible, not only because it would violate our agreement, but because I already have a date."

Silence swelled between them, and she had to force herself not to look away from him. Telling him you already have a date definitely stretches the bounds of truth , her conscience chided. She mentally duct-taped her conscience into silence. She did have a date. Sort of. So what if it was with Kate? It was hardly her fault if Matt believed she was already dating another man. In fact, if he did, that was good, right? And wasn't that the entire goal of tonight's club-hop with Kate-to find a man to date? You betcha.

A curtain seemed to drop over his expression. "Not to worry," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "I wasn't actually going to ask you to dinner. I understand the rules." Without another word, he retrieved his coffee mug and newspaper, then left the break room. Jilly stared at the empty doorway, bit down on her bottom lip to stop its trembling, and firmly told herself that this was good.

Yeah. So then why did she feel so bad?

"How about the tall, blond guy standing at the end of the bar?" Kate asked over the din of pulsating music. "The one wearing the pale blue sweater?"

Jilly glanced toward the bar from the vantage point of their small corner table. She shook her head. "I prefer dark hair."

"All right. How about the guy standing next to the blond guy? He has dark hair and is definitely good-looking."

Jilly checked out the man. Yup, no doubt about it, he was dark-haired and good-looking. Strikingly so. But for all the heat he generated in her, he might as well have been a telephone pole. "Sorry. I'm not feelin' a spark."

Kate sent her an exasperated look. "Well, you might feel a spark if you'd get your butt out of that chair and go chat with someone besides me. How are we supposed to find you a man to date if the only person you'll talk to is me?"

"I like talking to you."

"Thank you. I like talking to you, too. And I bet if you gave that gorgeous man half a glance, he'd like to talk to you, also."

Jilly shrugged. "Maybe later. Right now I'd rather hear about the rest of your weekend."

"Fine. Ben and I ordered out Chinese, went over the guest list for the wedding, and enjoyed incredible sex. How about the guy in the white shirt holding the martini glass?"

Jilly flicked her gaze over him. "Hair's too long, don't like the goatee."

"He could get his hair cut and shave."

"You know what they say-never try to change a man."

Kate studied her for several long seconds, and Jilly tried her best to appear nonchalant under the scrutiny, but clearly she failed because Kate nodded.

"I understand," Kate said.

"Understand what?"

"What's the matter with all these men here. They all share the very same problem."

"Yes, they do. I'm not attracted to any of them."

"Precisely. And the reason you're not is because not one of them is Matt Davidson."